


Fermata

by msraven



Series: Trope Bingo Round 3 Blackout [17]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Fuck Or Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is one successful op away from becoming a full SHIELD agent when he accepts an assignment to infiltrate a gang connected to a known gun runner. He doesn't expect proving his false loyalty to be so difficult or to be thrown into a cell with an omega in the throes of a heat. </p><p>Neither of them are prepared for how this encounter will forever change the course of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fuck or Die square on my trope_bingo card. 
> 
> Warning: As is inherent with the trope, there are mentions of non-con, so please be aware if it is a sensitive subject. My intention was for everything that occurs in the fic itself is fully consensual.

"Have fun!" the goon cackles and shoves Phil into the small room, locking the door behind him.

The first thing Phil notices is that the room is more like a cell, with nothing in it but a bed, toilet, and sink. The second thing he notices is the man huddled in a ball on the bed and then the intense scent that immediately identifies him as an omega.

"You're in heat," Phil says unnecessarily.

The omega lifts his head, a short, bitter laugh escaping. "No shit, Sherlock. You gonna tell me I'm an omega too?"

Phil swallows heavily and presses his back against the door. The omega is gorgeous, with beautiful eyes whose color shifts from blue to green to gold as he continues to stare at Phil. He has the chiseled, masculine features that Phil prefers in omegas—contrary to the usual societal norms. He's naked and Phil can see, despite how the omega is curled up, that his body is muscular and trim. He is every one of Phil's fantasies and wet dreams rolled into one, enticing package. 

The omega suddenly winces and his head drops back to his knees, clearly in pain. Phil has to work hard against his alpha instincts not to rush over and comfort the other man. He had never expected anything like this when he'd volunteered to take this undercover assignment. Phil had set out to prove that he was ready for a promotion to full agent status and now he's seriously considering whether he has what it takes to stay in SHIELD. He had already shot another agent to prove himself to this gang and, even though Phil knew that Sitwell was wearing a vest too small to be detected, it had still been the hardest thing he'd ever done. Until today.

"I'm Phil," he blurts out.

"I'm Clint. Now that we've been introduced, are you going to come over here and try to fuck me?"

"Um…"

Clint lifts his head and his eyes narrow, re-assessing Phil in a way that makes him feel much too exposed.

"Fuck my life," Clint laughs and this time, it's filled with enough real amusement to make a shiver of appreciation run down Phil's spine. "Singer's got a really messed up sense of hu—"

Clint breaks off on a groan of pain and Phil is across the room with a hand on the omega's bare back before he's made the conscious decision to move.

"Cramps?"

"Yeah. Getting worse."

"Here," Phil says, pressing gently on Clint's lower back and rubbing in slow circles, a caress he remembers his dad doing for his mom. "Does that help?"

Clint nods, uncurling a little and leaning into Phil's touch, his head lolling onto Phil's shoulder with a sigh. They stay like that for a moment before Clint takes a deep breath, looks up, and speaks.

"There are no cameras or mics in here—thank fuck—though that door isn't sound proofed," Clint whispers. "I know you're not really one of them and I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but I need you to take me through this heat."

"What?! Me?"

"Yes, you." Clint licks his lips and Phil can't help tracking the motion with his eyes. "Look, whatever Singer dosed me with, it's bad. I broke the neck of the first guy they sent in here and probably made sure the second guy's never gonna have kids, but I don't think Singer was kidding when he said that I either needed to get fucked or die wishing I had. He figures he wins either way."

Phil frowns and uses his free hand to check Clint's pulse. "Your heartrate is really high."

"Tell me about it. I was prepared to die before I let one of those goons use me, but you're…"

"I'm what?"

"You're not one of them. You won't hurt me."

Phil reels at the trust implicit in that statement. "I… You don't know me and I don't think I can do this." 

As much as Clint is willing to trust him, Phil can tell the heat is beyond the point of true consent. Phil doesn't think he can live with himself after, knowing he'd essentially raped an omega, even if they believed it would save his life. 

Clint's shoulders droop, but he doesn't try to argue. "Okay. It doesn't hurt as much with you here, so give me a few minutes to rest up and then we can figure out how to stage the fight."

"Fight?"

Clint raises a skeptical eyebrow. "You did hear the part where I killed one alpha and broke another one's balls, right? If we don't make this look good, it'll blow your cover and we'll both be dead."

"You're worried about me?"

"At least one of us should make it out of here alive. I'm an assassin, not a monster, and you seem like a good man, Phil."

Something shifts inside Phil then. A knowledge that, in this dingy room with a stranger in his arms, Phil has found a strength he never knew he possessed. He can't—he won't—let this brave man die just to save himself some discomfort. 

"Neither of us are going to die," Phil says with confidence, reaching up to cup the side of Clint's face and slide a thumb tenderly across his cheek. "We do still need to make it look like you fought me the first time."

"Wha—? Are you sure? I have no idea what they dosed me with and they weren't conscientious enough to leave condoms."

"I'm sure," Phil replies, somehow unsurprised that Clint is still more focused on Phil's well being over his own. "I'm inoculated against everything imaginable. I'll be fine. Let me take care of you."

Clint doesn't respond immediately, more hesitant to believe that someone is willing to help than he is to allow his death. Phil has a sudden urge to learn everything about Clint, to understand what makes him tick and what in his history makes him question kindness.

"Okay," Clint whispers and reaches up, pressing his lips against Phil's. 

The kiss is sweet and soft, a counterpoint to the horrible situation they're in. Phil lets himself sink into it, leaving him unprepared for when Clint shoves him hard off the bed.

"You're going to have to try harder than that," Clint taunts and stands.

Phil lifts himself off the ground and lets his eyes trail appreciatively over Clint. The omega's body is as beautiful as Phil suspected, all lithe and compact muscle, moving gracefully across the floor toward the center of the room. This is someone clearly experienced in using his body as a weapon and Clint exudes menace despite his angrily hard cock and the slick running down his thighs. Phil licks his lips and charges.

It's not a fight so much as a struggle for dominance, with neither of them truly intent on hurting the other. They are well matched in fighting skill and strength—or they would be if Clint wasn't in the throes of a heat. By the time Phil has grappled Clint to the ground, he has a split lip from a well-aimed headbutt, there's a bruise already forming on Clint's cheek, and they've managed to upend the bed. Accustomed to using everything to his advantage, Phil rubs his aching erection against the cleft of Clint's ass and it's enough of a distraction to give Phil the upper hand. He bites down where Clint's neck meets his shoulder and Clint mewls, arching into the bite as all the fight leaves him and he gives himself up fully into the heat. 

"Phil, _please_ ," Clint begs and Phil gentles the hold he has on the omega, mouthing soothingly against Clint's skin before speaking.

"I've got you. I'm here. I'll take care of you," Phil promises. 

Phil forces himself to think beyond the haze of arousal and just has enough presence of mind to drag them to the mattress now laying on the floor. He doesn't bother getting fully undressed—neither of them have the patience for it now—just pulling his jeans and boxers down far enough to free his leaking cock. Phil sinks into Clint's wet heat with a sigh that Clint echoes as he presses eagerly back into the cradle of Phil's hips. 

Clint comes up to brace himself on all fours and Phil runs a hand down Clint's back before gripping his hips tightly. Phil lets their mating instincts take over, pounding relentlessly into Clint with the omega's cries of pleasure urging him on. It feels like forever and no time at all before Phil's knot begins to grow, the added pressure triggering Clint's orgasm and then his own. 

They fall in a heap onto the mattress and it takes a full minute for Phil to come to his senses. By then, Clint has fallen into an exhausted slumber. Phil places a hand on Clint's heart as he tips them into a more comfortable position, assuring himself that the omega's pulse remains steady, before allowing himself to fall into his own light doze.

  


* * *

  


The two of them are still tied together when the cell door suddenly flies open. Phil's comes instantly awake and alert, wrapping his arms protectively around Clint and snarling at Singer and the three goons standing in the doorway. They are horrifically vulnerable like this, but Singer mostly ignores them as he takes in the scene.

"I have to say I'm impressed, Campbell," Singer sneers. "I didn't think anyone could tame my little pet. I suppose it's only fair to let you enjoy your prize for a bit longer."

Singer motions to his goons and steps aside, letting them carry in a few boxes of supplies before filing out again. Phil can't help looking at the whole thing with suspicion as Singer smirks and slams the door closed once again. 

"I really wish I knew what he thinks he's going to get out of this."

Phil startles at the sound of Clint's voice. "You're awake."

"Yeah. How long was I out?"

"Couldn't have been long since we're still tied together." Phil answers, wondering if things will get awkward. They don't really know each other and all the other omegas Phil has helped through their heats have resented the inconvenience of being tied together. 

Clint only nods, yawns, and snuggles deeper into Phil's arms. "Mind if I sleep some more?"

"Uh, no. Of course not. I'll keep watch."

"Mmm... Thanks."

Clint bends down and kisses Phil's hand where it still lays on his chest. It's a small, careless gesture, but it feels more intimate than their earlier, frantic mating. Phil tightens his arms and smiles when Clint sighs contentedly in his sleep. 

Phil keeps vigilant watch on the door until his knot deflates enough for him to slip gingerly out of Clint, who makes a noise of protest at the movement. Phil rubs his back soothingly until the omega settles back against the mattress and moves quickly to limit his time away from Clint's side. 

He starts by grabbing the blanket at the top of one of the boxes and laying it gently over Clint. Then Phil strips fully out of his soiled clothes—there is no need for modesty now—washing them as best he can in the small sink before returning to go through the rest of the boxes. The food is mostly protein bars, but there are a few pre-packaged sandwiches and some fruit that they can eat first. There are also plenty of sports drinks, towels, and wet wipes to tide them over for the next few days. Phil moves the boxes closer to the mattress, using the wipes to clean Clint off while not waking him, and mulls over what reason Singer may have to keep them happy and fed throughout what remains of Clint's heat.

Phil is still no closer to an answer when Clint begins to stir a few hours later. 

"Phil?" Clint calls out before he comes fully awake, a warm feeling settling in Phil's chest as he reaches out to grasp the hand that emerges from underneath the blanket.

"I'm here."

Clint grip is strong, his palms and fingers lined with familiar gun calluses and others that Phil can't place. He smiles up at Phil as if surprised that he stayed. 

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. How are you feeling?" 

"Okay. Better than I have since I got thrown in here. Thanks for... keeping watch."

"You're welcome. Think you can manage getting up and having some food?"

Clint sits up, his stomach growling loudly, and Phil smirks to hide how his mouth goes dry at the sight of Clint's gloriously chiseled torso. The omega is less shy about hiding his own reactions, letting his eyes roam over Phil's body openly. 

"Very nice," Clint compliments as he stands, wobbling a bit as he makes it to his feet. He waves off Phil's assistance and Phil drops his hands, but doesn't move too far away. "I need to use the facilities and there's a level of sharing even I draw the line at."

Phil blinks in response, drawing a laugh out of Clint—a surprisingly sweet sound that Phil would love to hear again under much different circumstances. 

Clint moves off toward the toilet in the corner and Phil busies himself with righting the bed and mattress to give him a small measure of privacy. It doesn't take Clint long to return and Phil immediately hands him a sandwich and drink once he's seated at the edge of the bed.

"Is this a Phil thing or an alpha thing?"

"What?" Phil looks at Clint in confusion until he realizes that, not only has he taken Clint's sandwich out of the wrapping, but he's also cracked the lid of his drink for him. "Oh. Um… a little of both."

Clint smiles and takes a bite, which Phil takes to mean that he doesn't really mind being doted on. They eat in silence for a bit and Clint gets most of the way through his sandwich before the next wave of cramps hit. Phil slides closer to place a soothing hand on the omega's back as he sucks in a sharp breath. 

"Think you can finish eating?"

Clint nods and quickly finishes off the rest of his food and drink, leaning into Phil as soon as he's done.

"You should finish eating too. They're not too bad yet."

Phil does as Clint suggests before encouraging Clint to lay down while Phil sets the empty wrappers and bottles aside. Clint reaches for Phil once he's back and Phil goes easily into his waiting arms. He lays next to Clint on the narrow bed and kisses him deeply, thankful that the edge of desperation has been dulled by their first mating. Phil is determined to take his time, to help them both forget the abominal situation they're in. He worships every inch of Clint's body with his fingers, lips, and tongue until the omega is quivering with a different sort of desperation. 

Clint starts to turn onto his stomach, but Phil stops him, silencing his confusion with kisses and soothing touches along the omega's fevered skin. Phil breaches Clint slowly, watching the omega's face go slack with pleasure as his body eagerly accepts all of Phil's cock. He continues to move agonizingly slow, drawing out the sensations and relishing all the whimpers and moans that spill from Clint's lips. Soon enough, their movements grow more frantic as they each chase their climax, Clint arching up to meet every thrust of Phil's hips. Phil snakes a hand between them to wrap it around Clint's cock and Clint howls in response as his orgasm hits. Clint's ass clenches tight around Phil and he drives his cock deeper, spilling hot inside the omega while his knot expands and ties them together. 

"Phil..." Clint sighs, voice hoarse and sated. 

Phil moves them to their sides, gathering Clint close to his chest as an overwhelming surge of possessiveness fills him. He has known Clint for less than a day and they've barely spoken, yet Phil is very much aware that he has never felt this way about anyone else he's encountered in his life. It seems impossible that Phil is falling in love—he is not a hormonal adolescent and this is far from the first heat he's been through—but his heart taunts him with evidence to the contrary. 

Clint nuzzles against Phil's neck and places a gentle kiss against his jaw. "You're amazing," he says with another contented sigh. "I want to stay here, in your arms, forever."

"Yes," Phil agrees and tightens his hold, even though he knows that it's more the endorphins and the heat talking, than Clint. He still wants to believe that Clint is feeling the same instant connection between them that Phil is, wants to believe he can stake claim to this amazing man. "I won't ever let you go."

  


* * *

  


They get a few hours of respite between each of wave of Clint's heat, resting or speaking quietly in the interim. Clint is hesitant to talk about himself, so they discuss a myriad of other topics instead.

Phil confesses his secret collection of Captain America memorabilia and Clint surprises him by staunchly defending his stance that Bucky Barnes was the greater hero because he fought alongside the Captain without the aid of any super serum. Phil accuses Clint of being biased toward a fellow sniper, which Clint doesn't try to deny, and they eventually agree to disagree. They also learn that they share a love of football—both the American and European versions—and neither of them have ever watched a baseball game in person. Clint's own confession is a secret passion for cooking, a hobby he rarely has the time or opportunity to indulge in. 

All in all, they do an admirable job pretending that they're not locked in a cell with a madman in control of their fate. It's not until their last night together, with Clint's heat obviously waning, that Clint broaches the subject of what they'll do next.

"The meet with Singer's gun runner is next Saturday."

"What?"

They're still tied together with Phil draped against the omega's back, so Clint turns his head to look at Phil over his shoulder. "Singer's weapons supplier. I assume that whoever you work for got wind that he was bringing something big this time and he is. I don't know what, but Singer let it slip that it's one of Stark's. It's arriving by boat. Gotham Pier 29 at 3am Saturday night—or really early Sunday morning, but you know what I mean."

A stolen Stark design is exactly what SHIELD had feared. Phil, in the two months that he's been with Singer's gang, hasn't been able to get any information on the theft or when the weapon would change hands. Now Clint is giving Phil exactly what he needs to stop the exchange and potentially catch one of the biggest weapons dealers in the world, not to mention Singer. It's the kind of results that could make Phil's career.

"Why are you telling me this now?" Phil asks, more concerned about Clint's timing than an ulterior motive.

Phil's knot has finally softened enough to slip out and Clint turns in his arms to face him. "Because you need to leave— _now_."

"Why now?"

"I took out the smartest—and I use that term very loosely—of Singer's goons on the first day. Knowing them and knowing Singer, the guy at the door right now is green and the only instructions he has is to keep me in this cell and not to wake Singer. You make enough noise and he'll let you out of the cell just to keep from waking everyone."

"We can go together."

"Singer wants something from me, badly enough to go through all this trouble. He thinks this proves I'm vulnerable because I'm an omega. He thinks he can control me. Either way, he won't hurt me. I'm valuable to him. That also means they won't let me go easily."

Phil knows Clint is right, but he still tightens his arms stubbornly. "I won't leave you."

Clint shakes his head vehemently. " _Think_ , Phil. You've been made. You wait until morning and they will kill you. I know you're a good guy and you want to help me. You can't do that and you can't stop the dealer if you're dead. I can take care of myself."

"I'll come back for you," Phil promises.

"I know you'll try."

"What if... What if you're pregnant?"

Clint scoffs. "Not even Singer can ignore biology. The chances of a male omega conceiving without a lot of intervention is what? One in a million?"

"Several million." Male omegas who can conceive are rare—highly prized in some cultures—and their offspring more so. The knowledge does nothing to settle Phil's fears over leaving Clint in Singer's hands. 

Phil leans in to kiss Clint, silently conceding to Clint's logic. The kiss is not a goodbye or a thank you. It's like every kiss they've shared over the past few days—deep and passionate—like it's something they want and not because Phil is about to abandon Clint. 

"I will find you," Phil swears when they part.

Clint smiles fondly and kisses the corner of Phil's mouth before turning his back and feigning sleep. Phil slips out of the bed, walking towards the sink to pull on his clothes, and then bangs loudly on the cell door. It's opened after a minute by a bleary-eyed kid who looks like he's just woken from a nap. 

"Let me out. He's done and I need a fucking shower," Phil demands while the kid continues to gape dumbly at him.

Phil strides past the kid confidently and the kid doesn't try to stop him. He listens to the sound of the cell door closing without pausing and without looking back.

  


* * *

  


The op to take down the arms dealer is botched from the beginning. The senior agent in charge reveals their position too early and it turns into a bloodbath. Barely any of Singer's gang or the dealer's crew are alive by the time the shooting stops. Phil makes himself look at every face, peering in each body bag and checking every prisoner. Singer and Clint are not among them.

Phil is torn between relief and despair. Clint is likely still alive, but he's gone—lost and still in Singer's grasp. Phil doesn't know how to begin searching for Clint. His only hope is to find Singer. Finding Singer means finding Clint and he prays that Clint can hold out long enough for Phil to come for him. It proves more difficult than Phil imagines. 

As he'd expected, the whole thing becomes a turning point in Phil's career at SHIELD. Not only does he earn full agent status, but he catches the eye of Fury, the new director. Phil begins to get all the choice assignments and skyrockets two more levels in the next year and a half. Throughout his rise, Phil never stops searching and yet finding Singer again still comes as a shock.

Phil looks at Singer's body—impaled through the heart and pinned to a wall—and keeps the scream of frustration inside his own head. He knows nothing about Clint except his first name. Phil has no way of tracking him, not without Singer. For the first time since he walked out of that cell, Phil admits to himself that he's lost Clint for good. 

He touches the fletching of the arrow protruding from Singer's chest and says goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There is a small mention of unwanted/non-consensual touching in this chapter.

"Be advised, he's heading your way."

It's been two years since that first arrow and Hawkeye has proved to be an elusive quarry. He's not exactly a threat to anyone on the right side of the law—his targets are, most often, the scum of the earth—but SHIELD can't be known to allow vigilantism. Fury has sent four teams after Hawkeye and all of them have failed. Phil doesn't plan to fail.

Phil has given his life over to SHIELD. He has set everything external to work aside to focus on rising through the ranks, rarely leaving his office outside of ops, let alone HQ. Phil has taken every difficult assignment offered him and never failed to accomplish his task. His singular focus has paid dividends. Phil is now a senior member of SHIELD—just below Assistant Director Hill and affectionately titled Fury's one good eye. Bringing in Hawkeye would be a feather in the cap of an already illustrious career.

"Orders, sir?"

"No kill shots," Phil responds. They have strict orders from Fury to bring Hawkeye in alive. "Wait for my signal."

Phil has planned and orchestrated every aspect of this op in exacting detail, funneling Hawkeye to where he can't escape their grasp. Yet as he watches the vigilante saunter into view, he suddenly gets the uneasy feeling of being the one stepping into a trap. Hawkeye looks unarmed, but Phil suspects that his long coat is hiding his bow and that his quiver is inside the backpack strapped to his shoulders. Phil knows better than to believe that Hawkeye isn't dangerous or that he isn't aware of their presence. There is still something that makes Phil pause and wait. What he's waiting for, he doesn't know. 

The breeze kicks up—barely enough to ruffle Phil's hair as he continues to watch Hawkeye from their position on a nearby rooftop—causing the vigilante to suddenly stop mid-stride. He slowly raises his head and, over the distance, meets Phil's eyes. It's Clint. Phil is too far away to see his face clearly and doesn't want to look away to grab a pair of binoculars, but he knows without question that Hawkeye is Clint. 

They stare at each other for several long seconds before Clint breaks the tension by straightening, loosening his shoulders, and relaxing his arms by his side. It's undeniably an act of surrender. 

With his heart hammering in his chest, Phil steps away from the edge of the rooftop and speaks into his comm. "All units stand down and converge on Hawkeye's position. Do not, I repeat, do not fire." 

Phil motions for the two snipers on the roof with him to follow and strides toward the stairs. When they reach the street and Hawkeye, he's already surrounded by a semi-circle of SHIELD agents, all with their guns drawn. Clint doesn't move, tracking Phil with his eyes as he draws closer. His face is neutral, but Clint's eyes are hopeful, expectant, waiting for Phil to determine how they proceed next. 

Phil is no longer the same alpha Clint once knew, the alpha who would have swept Clint into his arms and never let go again. Not only is Phil hardened and wiser, he has failed Clint to a level that he's never allowed himself to admit until now. Phil abandoned him in the cell and again when they'd found Singer's body. He'd broken his promise, taken the easy road instead of continuing to search for the omega his heart believed was his mate. Phil had chosen SHIELD and it's better for them both that Clint understand his choice.

"Take him into custody."

Clint's eyes shutter and it echoes as loudly in Phil's heart as the cell door closing behind him. Hawkeye doesn't resist as several agents step forward to follow Phil's order. They strip Clint of his coat and backpack without incident and it's not until one them reaches for Clint's bow that he moves, sliding gracefully sideways and putting his bow out of reach. All of the agents' guns immediately come up in response while Clint remains calm and still. 

Everyone holds their collective breaths and Phil hesitates. He doesn't know whether stepping forward will diffuse or inflame the situation—he has to view the man in front of him as Hawkeye, not Clint. 

Before Phil can come to a decision, one of the snipers steps forward with his hands out, palms up. "I'm Specialist Del Santo. They won't let you keep it, it's too dangerous, but I'm a sniper. I know what it's like to have your weapon be the one thing you can count on. I promise to take care of her for you."

There's another tense pause before Clint nods and gently places his bow in Del Santo's outstretched hands. Phil doesn't think he imagines how the others treat Clint more respectfully after that. They gently handcuff Clint's hands behind him while Phil signals the transport and Sitwell's extraction team to be ready for them. The move goes smoothly and Phil lets his guard drop, allowing himself get distracted by reporting in to HQ. 

The sickening crunch of breaking bone is loud in the quiet of the transport, followed immediately by a yelp of pain. Only Phil, Clint, and Sitwell's small extraction team are on the lower level of the plane, and Phil turns to find a large, burly alpha he doesn't know standing in front of Clint and clutching at his bleeding nose. Clint is seated on a bench and shackled to the wall, but Phil is aware of the damage the omega can inflict with a well-aimed headbutt. It's not difficult for Phil to deduct what's happened. The cause is another matter entirely. 

"You omega bitch!" the agent roars. "You broke my nose."

Phil fights against his alpha instincts that are screaming at him to protect his omega. Clint is not his and Phil struggles with the appropriate response expected from the SHIELD agent in charge. Once again, he hesitates long enough for someone else to come to Clint's aid as the burly agent raises his hand to strike the defenseless omega. 

"Stand down, agent," Sitwell orders, neatly sliding in front of Clint. The alpha agent growls back, trying to assert his dominance over the beta, but Sitwell is a seasoned agent and well deserving of his rank. "I said stand down."

The other agent smartly stands down, stepping back and dropping his chin. "He broke my nose."

"You should be glad that's all I'll let him break. I don't care where you last served, but this is SHIELD. You _never_ touch _anyone_ in that manner without consent. You are hereby on suspension until we can hold a review of your actions." Sitwell waves his hand in disgust and dismissal. "Get out of my sight. Go upstairs and get your nose seen to before I decide you're not worth the pain meds they'll give you."

The alpha slinks away and Sitwell flops down on the bench next to Clint, who looks at the agent in disbelief and amusement. 

"I told Fury he wasn't cut out for SHIELD," Sitwell gripes. He starts to hold out his hand and then gives Clint a friendly pat on the shoulder instead. "I'm Agent Jasper Sitwell. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I'm a fan of your work."

"Clint Barton."

"You seem like a normal kind of guy, Clint Barton. What are you doing going around killing people?"

"You seem like a normal guy yourself, Jasper," Clint replies with a smirk. "What are you doing working for SHIELD?"

There's a pause and then Sitwell laughs. "Good point, man. Good point. Now… Time for a truer test of character. What's your favorite food?"

"Are you asking me with regards to a region? Or an actual dish?"

Phil can almost hear Sitwell rubbing his hands together in glee and decides he's better off putting some distance between himself and Clint. It's been years since Phil has felt this off-balance and it's not a time in his life he cares to revisit. He climbs the stairs to the upper level of the plane and ignores the feeling of Clint's eyes on his back the entire way.

  


* * *

  


It's not a surprise that Hill is waiting for them when they land at HQ. What comes as a surprise is how Clint blinks in recognition and then smiles warmly at Maria. What is even more surprising is Maria's equally warm response.

"It's nice to see you again, Hawkeye."

"Likewise."

Maria looks over Clint's shoulder at Sitwell. "Those cuffs are no longer necessary." 

Sitwell doesn't hesitate to follow Maria's order, stepping forward and unlocking the cuffs despite the openly shocked expressions on the other agents' faces. She waits for Clint to rub some feeling back into his wrists before extending her hand. 

"Maria Hill. Thank you for saving my life."

Clint takes her hand, but shakes his head at the rest of her words. "Clint Barton and no thanks necessary. I was going to take out Menendez anyway."

"I'm going to assume your actual plan didn't involve revealing your position and diverting their attention so that I could make my escape."

"Could have been," Clint shrugs. "Besides, it seemed like a waste to mess up such a sexy dress. You look smoking hot in red."

Instead of the comment earning Clint a knee to the groin, it gets him a wink and a grin, causing even Phil's eyebrows to go up in disbelief. "Damn straight. Now if you'll follow me, the Director would like to speak with you."

Maria leads Clint away and Phil begins to understand that this had not been the mission he'd believed it to be. They never intended to _capture_ Hawkeye. Phil had been so focused on succeeding where others had failed, that he hadn't seen Fury's no kill order for what it was—recruitment.

Phil disperses the teams with compliments of a job well done before returning to his office, his mind whirling with the possibility of having Clint permanently nearby. His heart aches with longing, but Phil is painfully aware that he is no longer deserving to be Clint's alpha or to ask for his forgiveness. He also knows that, despite his actions to the contrary, he is still deeply invested in Clint's well being and care.

The director's summons, a scant twenty minutes later, is expected and Phil steels himself to see Clint again as he makes the short walk to Fury's office.

"This is Coulson," Fury tells Clint as he waves Phil further into the room. "He's going to be your temporary handler until we get you through the standard intake assessments. We'll figure out your permanent handler later."

Clint stands, his eyes flicking toward Phil before landing back on Fury. "Sitwell seemed nice."

"That's a thought. He's never expressed interest in becoming a handler, but I'll sign off on it if you can convince him," Fury agrees, standing and reaching across his desk to shake Clint's hand. "Welcome to SHIELD, Specialist Barton."

"Thank you. I hope your confidence in me is not misplaced."

"If you'll follow me to my office," Phil says when they're done. "We can go over what your next few months are going to look like before you head down to Medical for the standard checkup."

They leave the office and Clint follows Phil silently to his office, not speaking until they are both seated on either side of Phil's desk.

"Senior Agent Coulson," Clint says, running his fingers over the nameplate sitting on Phil's desk. "Coulson, not Campbell."

Phil looks up at Clint in surprise. It's the first time he's alluded to their time together and Phil realizes that this is the first time they've been alone.

"Is it still Phil?"

"Yes."

"Phil Coulson. It suits you." Clint gives him a soft, small smile and Phil's heart rate speeds up.

Every instinct Phil has screams at him to tell Clint how he'd searched for him. How he hadn't lost hope until they'd found Singer. How he'd never meant to abandon Clint. How he'd do anything to earn Clint's forgiveness.

Logic and fear overrules his instincts and Phil holds his hand out to Clint with as much professionalism as he can muster. "Perhaps it's best we start over. I'm Phil Coulson, Level Seven Agent. Welcome to SHIELD."

Phil thinks he sees a flash of disappointment in Clint's eyes, but it's gone too quickly for him to be sure. Clint's smile widens into the same cock-sure one he's been giving everyone else and shakes Phil's hand. 

"Thank you, sir. It's good to be here." Clint moves to sprawl across the chair like he doesn't have a care in the world, and maybe he doesn't.

Clint's eyes flick to the side, away from Phil's eyes and he recognizes that Clint is far from unconcerned. He's hiding his nervousness behind nonchalance and the need to protect this beautiful omega surges inside Phil. It's not everything his heart wants, but Phil _can_ offer Clint his protection and guidance within the confines of SHIELD.

"Before we get started, there's something I'd like to share with you." Phil reaches into his desk and pulls out a folder he's been working on in his spare time. He hands it to Clint, who leans forward in interest, taking the folder and beginning to flip through the papers inside. "I know Fury mentioned that I would only be your temporary handler, but what you have is a proposal for a new strike team that I'm planning to give the director. If you're willing, I think you'd be a perfect fit for my new team."

Clint continues to scan through the pages of the proposal, eyes moving so quickly that Phil wonders how much of it he's actually absorbing. He eventually gets to the last page and looks back up at Phil, eyes now filled with respect and admiration. Phil's back straightens with pride and relief as Clint nods his assent.

"Count me in, sir."

  


* * *

  


Fury signs off on Strike Team Delta with Clint and Phil as it's first and only permanent members. Other agents add on depending on the mission parameters, but Clint and Phil remain the team's core.

Clint, despite having little to no formal education or training, excels at everything SHIELD throws at him. There are surprisingly no issues with Clint working alongside seasoned agents and he has no problems following orders as long as they come from Phil. Clint follows Phil with a level of trust that he isn't sure he's earned, but is smart enough to appreciate. They work flawlessly together—smoothly anticipating each other's actions and complimenting both of their strengths—until it's no longer possible to imagine one without the other. 

Considering how closely they work together in the field, it's only natural that they gravitate toward each other during their down time. Clint soon takes notice of Phil's tendency to overwork himself while at HQ, often ignoring his basic needs while engrossed in reports and analysis. His reaction is a pleasant surprise.

It begins with a sandwich and coffee appearing on Phil's desk while his attention is diverted, left so stealthily that only the lingering wisps of Clint's scent gives him away. After about a half dozen similar deliveries, Phil manages to look away from a report fast enough to catch Clint before he can slip out the door.

"Thank you."

Clint startles, caught, in the doorway. "You're welcome. Wouldn't want you passing out from starvation on our flight to Croatia." He gives Phil a small smile and is gone before Phil can say anything else. 

A few days after they get back from their op in Croatia, Phil feigns being absorbed in the post-mission briefs as Clint's familiar scent precedes his entry into the office. When a coffee cup appears at the edge of his vision, Phil reaches out and lays gentle fingers on Clint's wrist to stop his retreat. Phil smiles up at Clint's surprised expression. 

"You could stay and eat with me," Phil suggests, grateful for the opportunity to allow their partnership to grow into friendship.

"Oh! Um... I already ate with Del Santo in the mess."

"Next time, then?"

Clint gives him another small smile and nods. "Sure."

It's two more days before Clint takes him up on his offer, bringing them both lunch and spending an hour with Phil tossing around ideas for open cases and possible future ops. They have lunch together every few days after that, with Clint still dropping off food when their schedules don't line up. Their conversations soon expand beyond work and Phil cherishes every personal detail that Clint shares, happy that they've moved past their odd beginning.

"Dinner?" Phil asks a few months later as they're leaving a late meeting with the analysts. 

Clint glances at his watch. "It's pretty late, but I can see if they have anything left in the mess. I may be able to get Mrs. Landry to heat something up."

"Or we could go out. There's a great Thai place between here and my apartment that I know is open late."

"Your apartment? I have it on good authority that you hang upside down from the rafters of your office."

Phil rolls his eyes. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

"Yes I am."

Phil ignores him and starts walking, confident that Clint will follow. It's later than Phil realized and by the time they get to the restaurant, it's about to close. Clint ups the wattage of his puppy-dog eyes, easily convincing the owner to at least make them some food to go. Twenty minutes later, they each walk out of the restaurant with a bag of food and their stomachs grumbling.

"Thanks for the idea," Clint says and holds up his bag in a mock salute. "This smells a hell of a lot better than re-heated mac and cheese. See ya tomorrow."

"Where are you going?"

"Uh… back to HQ."

Phil shakes and then motions with his head in the opposite direction. "My apartment's only a few more blocks and I've got beer."

"You sure? I don't want to impose or anything. You don't have to spend time with me just because you're my handler."

"We're off the clock and I like spending time with you, Clint."

Phil turns toward his apartment, his heart thumping happily at the thought of having Clint in his space, and Clint catches up after a few steps. "Do you really have a shrine to Captain America?"

"Who have you been talking to? I have a few shelves… a small bookshelf at most."

"Maria says you have his trading cards in your locker and that you kiss them for luck before going on missions."

"I don't kiss them!" Phil protests, spinning to face Clint only to realize that he's being teased.

Clint doubles over laughing and nearly drops his food due to his mirth. "Oh my God! Your _face_."

"I'm starting to rethink my earlier assessment."

"Nah," Clint smirks, straightening up and bumping his shoulder against Phil's. "You know I'm adorable, sir."

Phil shakes his head and continues walking, but doesn't try and stop the tide of affection he feels toward the omega.

  


* * *

  


Phil doesn't expect their new friendship and close partnership to be sorely tested less than a week later when Clint hesitates during an op. They've been tailing the Black Widow and the two rival gangs after the memory drive she's carrying. They have express orders to shoot her on sight.

"Hawkeye? Do you have the shot?"

"I do…" 

"Then take the shot."

There's a long pause and then Phil hears the rustling sound of Clint lowering his bow. "I can't, sir. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Why?" Phil asks in shock. This is the first time that Clint has ever defied a direct order.

"I don't think she's what we think she is. Or not anymore. The Widow's trying to keep this thing _away_ from the bad guys and she looks… tired. Lost."

"She isn't you, Clint."

"I know that, but… Permission to enter the building, sir?"

Phil can hear the silent plea in Clint's voice. There is no mistaking the true intent of Clint's request—to attempt the rescue of a kindred spirit. Phil is torn. He trusts Clint unreservedly, trusts that what Clint's eyes are seeing is the truth. He is also filled with fear that, even if the Black Widow is not the monster legend makes her to be, she may not go readily into the custody of her savior. Phil takes a steadying breath and follows his gut.

"Permission granted. Be careful."

"Thank you, Phil. I owe you one."

"Stay safe and you can buy me dinner."

There are a few seconds of silence and then Clint's whispered reply, "It's a date. Going silent."

"Acknowledged."

Phil's pulse spikes and even he isn't sure if it's due to Clint's words or watching Hawkeye leave the safety of his perch. Phil watches on his monitor, from the hidden van a few blocks away, as Clint scales the side of the building. He waits until Clint has disappeared inside the warehouse before switching his focus to tracking the gangs searching through the other buildings. It takes thirty minutes before one of the gangs starts moving with purpose towards the warehouse, making it clear that they've determined where the Widow is hiding. 

"Hostiles converging on your position," Phil warns. Clint sends two clicks over the line to let him know that's he's heard. "There are too many of them. I'm calling in Sitwell's team. You have ten and then I want you clear of the warehouse, Widow or no Widow. Understood?"

Two more clicks and Phil signals Sitwell before quickly checking over his weapons and leaving the van. He makes his way silently toward the warehouse, staying in the shadows between two other buildings and keeping his eyes trained on the door Clint had used. The ten minutes counts down steadily in Phil's head as he keeps an ear focused on the comms, listening to Sitwell's team approaching and reporting the locations of the gang members they're now stalking. 

At eight and a half minutes, with no warning and no provocation, an RPG is fired into the warehouse and all hell breaks loose. Phil barely hears Sitwell scrambling his team to close in on the gang members, the staccato of gunfire drowned out by the fear roaring in Phil's head. He rushes inside the warehouse focused only on finding Clint and getting him to safety.

Phil's heart nearly stops when he sees Clint's worn combat boots underneath a pile of rubble. He starts pulling away the debris, only to freeze at the familiar sound of a gun being cocked. Through the smoke, Phil can see the barrel pointed at his forehead and a set of cold eyes staring at him from beneath Clint's still form. 

"Please," Phil begs. "I need to get him safe."

The gun immediately lowers and the eyes soften with relief. 

"You are Phil?" a heavily accented voice asks. "You are his alpha?"

"Yes," Phil answers, not bothering to correct the latter question, and begins clearing the debris once again. Phil rolls Clint off the Widow as soon as he's able, sucking in a worried gasp as his hands come back bloody. He can see that there's a piece of shrapnel embedded in Clint's side, his uniform likely stemming the blood loss. 

"I am Natasha," the Widow says from behind Phil's shoulder. "Clint saved me."

Clint begins to stir with a groan. "Phil?"

"I'm here. You're hurt, but we need to get out. I'm worried that trying to carry you will make things worse. Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

Phil helps him up, taking as much of Clint's weight as he can, and then giving him a second to catch his breath. 

"Will you be joining us?" Phil asks Natasha. Clint tenses in Phil's arms, relaxing with a relieved grin when she nods, gun raised and eyes darting around in search of potential danger. 

Their backs covered, Phil concentrates on helping Clint out of the building as fast as possible and they meet Sitwell just outside the door. The agent's eyebrows go up when he sees Natasha, but quickly switches his priority to Clint when he sees the injury.

"Shit! Medics!"

Phil helps the medics get Clint into a stretcher, giving his shoulder a squeeze before forcing himself to turn away and speak with Sitwell. 

"Sit rep?"

"There was a lot of them, but we had more firepower and training. We've got everyone left standing rounded up and—"

"Agent Coulson!" one of the medics interrupts. "We need your help with Agent Barton."

Phil hesitates and Sitwell shakes his head. "Go. We're good here. I'll escort your guest back to base... If that's okay with her?"

They both turn toward Natasha, who looks at Jasper intently before nodding once again. That's all Phil needs to jog after the medic, who ushers him into the helicopter readying to take Clint back to base. 

"He won't let us sedate him," the medic tells Phil.

"Phil!" Clint cries. "You can't let them. _Please._ You can't."

Phil squeezes into the cramped space next to Clint and takes his hand. "Clint. You need to let them take care of you. They can't do that without sedating you."

"No! No drugs!" Clint, agitated, pulls his hand out of Phil's grip and splays it across his abdomen, leaving Phil confused since it's nowhere near the shrapnel wound.

"Oh!" one of the medics sudden says, leaning forward so that Clint can see her clearly. "You're an omega?" Clint nods. "I am too. It's okay. We have sedatives that are safe for omegas. I promise."

"Even if I'm...?"

"Yes. Much safer than not letting us patch you up."

Clint's fingers twitch nervously and Phil lays his hand over the top of them. "Please let them take care of you."

"Okay."

The medic rummages around in her kit and emerges with a different syringe, holding it up for Clint to see, before injecting it into the proper vein. Clint is asleep a few seconds later. 

"I take it you didn't know?" the medic asks, nodding to where Phil and Clint's hands lay intertwined on Clint's belly. 

Phil frowns, still confused by everything that's just happened. "Know what exactly?"

"That Agent Barton is pregnant."


	3. Chapter 3

Phil suppresses the urge to sigh for what feels like the thousandth time as he sits waiting for Clint to come out of surgery. He still doesn't understand how he could have missed something so important. That Clint is pregnant and Phil hadn't noticed seems like another failure on his part. Phil hadn't even known that Clint had been seeing another alpha, had assumed that the omega spent most of his free time with Phil. 

The sigh escapes as Phil stamps down on the rising tide of jealousy and reminds himself that Clint was never his omega to lose. He tries to think back on other agents that he knows Clint spends time with, but comes up blank on an alpha that could have taken Clint through a heat without Phil noticing. He can't help wondering if was just one, casual heat or if it's something more permanent. The idea of watching Clint's belly grow heavy with another alpha's child, with another alpha tenderly caring for him through the pregnancy and after, forces yet another sigh of defeat from Phil's lips. 

"Agent Coulson?"

Phil's head snaps up at the voice and stands as one of the doctors approaches. "Dr. Sanchez. How is he?"

"Agent Barton is fine. Mostly cuts and bruises along with a mild concussion. We fixed the damage caused by the shrapnel and confirmed that it didn't harm the baby." She sees Phil's suppressed flinch and gives him a wry smile. "I'm afraid some of this is my fault. I did his intake checkup and assumed Agent Barton was on suppressants. We have several agents who prefer to take care of those types of personal things on their own. I didn't see the need to dig deeper."

"I don't understand. What does this have to do with his intake checkup? That was nearly a year ago. You can't be suggesting that he's been pregnant this whole time."

"Oh, I'm not suggesting. I'm telling you that's exactly what's happened."

Phil can't keep his jaw from dropping in shock. "How is that possible? Clint's not even showing now."

"While they're not in common usage at this day and age, inhibitors have been used by omegas for centuries. It's not that different from our ancestors learning the proper mix of herbs and berries to create crude suppressants—necessity drives invention. Back when we lived more nomadic lives, it wasn't uncommon for an omega to delay their pregnancy after conception until they reached a place more conducive to childbirth."

It all sounds like fiction to Phil's ears. He'd grown up in a small town outside of Chicago that still believed in separating biology classes by sex. They had barely covered suppressants in Phil's alpha-centric lessons and definitely didn't mention inhibitors. Phil shakes his head. Now is not the time to bemoan short-sighted administrators or berate himself for not correcting the hole in his knowledge.

"I'm not really interested in the history lesson, doctor. How long has Clint been using these inhibitors?"

"Based on the buildup in his system, I would say years."

"Years?!" Phil has to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat and lock his knees to keep them from buckling. He tries to tell himself that it's not possible, that Clint could not have been pregnant for nearly five years, but the truth seems glaringly obvious despite his attempt to believe otherwise. 

"Inhibitors aren't as strong as suppressants, which is why Barton's bloodwork didn't trigger any intervention during his intake. I'm not well versed in inhibitors, but at these levels, I would say several years."

"Are they dangerous? To Clint or the baby?"

"It's hard to say," the doctor shrugs. "I don't know of anyone using inhibitors for this long. I need to do some research, but I would highly suggest Agent Barton either terminate or continue the pregnancy soon, for the same reason we don't keep omegas on suppressants for any length of time without a break. That kind of chemical dependency is never healthy."

"Can I see him?"

"It'll be a few hours before he's awake enough to notice you there. May I suggest that a hot shower and a good meal would be more beneficial to your own health? I'll text you his room number once he's moved from post-op."

"Thank you, Dr. Sanchez," Phil nods and walks out of the room on auto pilot, his mind jumbled with everything he's just learned. 

He makes his way down to the locker room and strips out of his ruined suit, stepping into the shower and hoping that standing under the spray will help clear his mind. It's not the water, however, but what it washes away that centers him. Phil watches transfixed as the water runs red—Clint's blood cleaned from his hands and flowing down the drain. It's a testament to how close he'd come to losing Clint once again and it sets a clear priority in his mind.

Clint is a gift. An unexpected gift Phil was given five years ago and one he's continued to squander. His life was irrevocably changed for the better that day he met the brave omega in that dingy cell. Whatever else this pregnancy may change between them, whatever portion of his or the baby's life Clint is willing to share, it's time for Phil to admit to himself and to let Clint know just how much he means to Phil.

With his mind set, Phil is eager to be near Clint again, even if it's just to sit vigil as he sleeps. Phil dresses quickly, grabs a quick cup of coffee, and heads to the room sent to his phone by Dr. Sanchez. He isn't expecting to find Natasha and Sitwell already there.

"She wanted to make sure Clint was okay and Fury cleared it," Sitwell explains.

"It's okay, Jasper," Phil assures him before turning toward Natasha. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson. I apologize for not properly introducing myself earlier."

"I am Natasha Romanov. Clint is well?" 

"Mending. The doctors say he'll be fine."

"He saved me," she repeats with a surprise that is achingly familiar. Maybe she is more like Clint than Phil believed.

"Clint was able to make a home here—at SHIELD. I think we're prepared to offer you the same chance, if you're willing."

Natasha looks from Clint, to Phil, to Jasper and then nods. "I will speak with your Fury."

"I'll take you to him," Sitwell offers and starts to leave, only to stop at the door. "Oh, hey Coulson!" 

Phil turns and just manages to catch the protein bar that smacks him in the chest. 

"I know you don't eat unless Clint feeds you, so tell him he owes me one."

They leave before Phil can respond with anything more than a raised eyebrow. It's not until he's settled in the chair next to Clint's bed and chewing on the bar that the true significance of Sitwell's comment sinks in. Clint brings Phil food. Maybe it's just wishful thinking. Maybe it's just a friend being nice. But maybe, Phil hopes, it's an omega showing interest in and taking care of his alpha. 

Phil finishes eating and scoots the chair closer, laying his hand over Clint's. Maybe he still has a chance to fix all of his mistakes.

  


* * *

  


Phil wakes to the wonderful sensation of gentle fingers carding through his hair. He hums in contentment and leans into the touch, smiling when there's a quiet chuckle in response. Clint, his mind supplies, and Phil opens his eyes to see the smile that goes with the laugh.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself. That can't be good on your back, sir."

Phil sits up, his aforementioned back immediately protesting the movement, as he remembers where they are and why.

"You're awake."

"I have been for a while," Clint responds. "Figured that, if you were tired enough to fall asleep folded over the bed, it was best to leave you alone for a bit."

"Uh, thank you. I appreciate it even if my back does not."

"You're welcome." 

Clint's eyes flick downward and Phil realizes that he's still holding the omega's hand. 

"Why didn't you tell me about the baby?" Phil asks softly. There is no point in ignoring what he's learned or pretending that Clint didn't know what he was doing.

"I'm sorry." Clint looks away and tries to pull his hand out from underneath Phil's, but Phil only tightens his grip.

"I'm not angry with you. I just want to understand why."

"I meant to tell you. It's why I was looking for you. But then..."

Phil waits for Clint to continue and then tries to fill in the blanks himself when no more words come. "But then you found me and I acted like I didn't know you. I wanted to start over and pretend nothing happened between us before SHIELD."

Clint nods and keeps his gaze averted, fingers intertwining with Phil's as he unconsciously seeks comfort. "I told myself that I just needed to keep biding my time. What was another year?"

"You were going to leave."

"It's in my contract."

All of it makes sense now. Why Clint never got his own apartment outside of the barracks or rarely bought anything for himself. He was saving up to leave SHIELD, to leave Phil, behind.

"What happened with Singer?" Phil asks, forcing his voice to remain calm and needing to understand the entire story while Clint seems willing to tell it.

"The newbie must have called Singer right after you left. They gassed the cell and by the time I woke up, we were already on a plane. He said that there was something in the stuff they gave me that guaranteed conception and he took me to a doctor to confirm it."

"That's why neither of you were at the meet with the gun runner."

Clint finally looks at Phil with a smirk. "Singer was so fucking pissed about that. Seeing him seethe after hearing the news was almost worth being strapped to a bed for two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

"The time it took them to confirm the pregnancy. Then Singer killed the doctor to convince me that he was the only one with access to the chems that would keep the baby safe."

"You believed him."

"I grew up in the circus with a bunch of betas," Clint defends. "The only reason they taught me about suppressants was so that I could perform through my heats. It took me a while to figure out the truth and find my own source for the inhibitors without alerting Singer. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of during that time, but I kept the baby safe."

Phil rubs his thumb soothingly across the top of Clint's hand. "And after?"

"I didn't feel any safer on my own. If I killed enough bad guys, someone on the good side was bound to notice. All I needed was for whatever agency you were with to come after me and I… I thought that, if I could find you, you'd keep us safe. When I realized that wouldn't happen, I had to come up with a different plan. A year at SHIELD seemed like heaven compared to everywhere I'd been before."

It's Phil's turn to look away, dropping his gaze to their joined hands. "I don't know how you could have had so much confidence in me after I failed you."

"Failed me? What are you talking about?"

"I abandoned you," Phil answers, gathering his courage to meet Clint's eyes. "I left you in that cell and in Singer's hands. It was my fault he was able to use your pregnancy against you. I never found you and when it got too hard—when we found Singer dead—I gave up searching."

Clint blinks at him for a long few seconds and then laughs, wincing when it aggravates his injury. "Ow! Damn it, ow! Don't make laugh. It hurts."

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Oh my God. You are such an alpha sometimes." Phil frowns and Clint shakes his head fondly. "You think that you somehow have more control over the world than the rest of us. Are you forgetting that I was the one who told you to leave? Neither one of us could have guessed what Singer was up to. Who the hell wants a pregnant assassin? Plus I'm assuming you didn't know inhibitors existed before last night. None of this was your fault, Phil."

"I still broke my promise."

"It was nearly impossible for you to keep your promise. Singer was ridiculously paranoid about who he hired after you ruined the deal for the Stark weapon and I haven't been in any official registry since I was eight—way before I identified as an omega. You didn't even know my last name."

"It doesn't excuse the fact that I stopped trying."

"I don't blame you for what happened, Phil."

"I know you don't," Phil sighs, "but I do."

They lapse into silence, each of them agreeing to disagree, and Phil moves to sit at the edge of the bed without letting go of Clint's hand. 

"Dr. Sanchez is recommending you terminate or continue the pregnancy soon. She's worried about the buildup of the drugs in your system."

"The longest reported delayed pregnancy was twelve years, with no adverse effects to the omega or the child. Inhibitors have been in use for—"

"Clint," Phil interrupts. "You and I both know that just because something is possible, doesn't make it right. You're both safe now. You don't have to wait or leave SHIELD in order to have the baby."

"SHIELD doesn't have much need for a pregnant assassin either."

"Perhaps not, but you won't be pregnant forever and we have plenty of other agents who have families." Phil takes a deep breath and cradles Clint's hand in both of his. "I… I would love to be a part of it, if you'll let me. Not just the pregnancy, but everything that comes after."

A flash of hope flickers in Clint's eyes and then he looks away. "I don't want to be a burden or a chore."

"You would be neither of those things, Clint. I _want_ to be a part of your life. Yours and the baby's."

"I wouldn't keep you from your child, now that I know you want it. We don't have to come as a package deal."

Phil's brow knits together in confusion and he lifts a hand to Clint's chin, using a finger to gently turn his face back toward Phil. "What makes you think I wouldn't want the whole package?" 

"Because I've been here nearly a year and you've never… If you didn't know it was yours, if I had pretended it was from a casual heat like I planned, would you be making the same offer? Would you have let me leave?"

"I wouldn't have let you leave," Phil answers confidently, but he doesn't know how to answer the first question. He still isn't sure if he can be the alpha that Clint needs him to be. Believing that Clint had gone to another alpha for a heat would only have cemented that fear.

"You don't have to want me to have the baby," Clint says softly. "I promise I won't terminate and I won't run away. If you say that there will still be a place for me at SHIELD after, then I'll stay. The child is yours with or without me." 

Phil closes his eyes. It would be so easy to accept Clint's offer, to have Clint stay close with their child tethering them to one another without the responsibility of being his alpha, without the possibility of failing again. Phil has no doubt that Clint will keep his promise. He tries to imagine what it would be like to raise their child together, but separate. Phil doesn't think he can stomach watching Clint with another alpha or to continue loving him from a distance. It's time for Phil to stop playing it safe and to go after what his heart truly wants. 

"No," Phil replies firmly and opens his eyes to look intently at Clint. "That's not what I want. Not _just_ what I want." He presses a finger against Clint's lips to still his protest. "The choice is yours, but you don't have to decide now. You've always been the braver of the two of us and I'm asking you to take one more risk, to give us one more chance. There's still a month left on your SHIELD contract. Will you give me that time to convince you that I can be your alpha? That, child or no, I want to be your alpha?"

Clint's eyes are stormy with unspoken emotion and Phil can see the longing in their depths warring with the need to protect himself from further hurt. Phil keeps himself from saying any more, wants Clint to know that he's finally the one in control of what happens next. All Phil can do is hold his breath and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it had to be said: Absolutely zero medical accuracy in this.


	4. Chapter 4

Phil trudges tiredly up the stairs to his apartment after a very long day, his stomach growling loudly with each step. Without Clint to bring him food or otherwise remind him to eat, Phil has fallen back to his old, bad habits. It's much later than he'd planned to come home and he can't help thinking that it would have been better to have slept in his office. The idea walking into a dark apartment isn't motivating Phil to move any faster. He stands in the dimly lit hallway for a moment feeling sorry for himself, before putting the key in the lock and opening the door.

Instead of darkness, Phil is greeted by bright light, muted music, and the now-familiar smells of Clint's cooking. The weight of his long day immediately lifts from Phil's shoulders as he closes the door, a smile blooming happily on his face. He toes off his shoes and pads quietly toward the kitchen, eager to catch a candid glimpse of Clint before he's aware that Phil is home. The sight that greets him takes his breath away. 

Clint, barefoot in ratty jeans and one of Phil's old Rangers shirts, is swaying gently to the music as he stirs something on the stove. It's a scene Phil never would have imagined after Clint's tentative nod in Medical four weeks ago—Clint happy and comfortable in Phil's home. He leans against the wall, content to watch Clint for a few uninterrupted moments until another loud growl from his stomach betrays his position.

"You're home," Clint grins over his shoulder, giving the pot one last stir before turning to face Phil.

Phil straightens away from the wall and steps toward Clint to give him a kiss on the cheek—the only physical sign of affection Phil has allowed himself since he convinced the omega to move into the apartment after his initial recovery. Clint brushes his lips softly against Phil's jaw in return before Phil moves away to shed his coat, draping it over a chair and stuffing his tie into a pocket. 

"Sorry I had to break our dinner plans," Phil apologizes. This is the first night since Phil had unofficially started courting Clint that he'd needed to break a date. He rests a hip against the counter, wanting to stay close to Clint now that he's home. "I wasn't expecting you to be up, let alone cooking."

Clint shrugs. "Natasha warned me that the intel she brought back was good, so I knew you'd be late. I had a later lunch anyway."

"You still didn't have to."

"It's just pasta and reheated sauce," Clint reason. "Sit and I'll plate it up."

Phil obediently takes his usual seat at the table and hums in enjoyment when he takes his first bite. "Is this the bolognese sauce you made last week?"

He'd come home to find a huge pot of the sauce simmering on the stove and then watched with a heavy heart as Clint methodically packed and stowed several small containers of it in the freezer. At the time, Phil had assumed that Clint was preparing for when he would no longer be around—conscientiously ensuring that Phil ate well even in his absence. Maybe that isn't what it meant after all.

"Yeah. It's why I made so much. For nights like this when we work late or I'm too distracted to cook anything properly. I'm still amazed you have a functional kitchen considering the only thing you make in it is coffee and cereal."

Phil doesn't rise to the teasing, his heart warmed by Clint's use of "we" and his stomach quickly filling with a delicious dinner. "I received a notification that you were cleared for active duty—back to work on Monday. I assume that means your checkup this morning went well?"

"Yup. And they gave me back my range access."

"Ah! I can see how that would be a bit of a distraction today." 

Clint had been more than a little annoyed when the doctors had pulled his range access after surgery. Knowing that Clint would likely find a way to defy doctor's orders, Phil had extracted a promise from the omega not to break into the SHIELD range or elsewhere, or in any way endanger his recovery. He's still a little amazed that it had worked, with the added benefit of Clint electing to spend most of his time recovering in Phil's apartment to avoid temptation. 

"Went to the range right after I got done with Medical, but that's not why I was distracted."

"Oh?"

"After the range, I had a late lunch with Nat and Jasper. We got to talking and..."

Phil stops shoveling food into his mouth and looks up at Clint in concern when he trails off. He can see Clint visibly bracing himself for whatever else he's about to say, causing Phil's concern to ratchet up several notches. Clint's hand twitches, a normally minor tell betraying his nervousness, except that he's currently holding a forkful of pasta. Sauce splatters across the table and onto the shirt Clint is wearing, making him startle in surprise. 

"Oh crap! Your shirt!"

Before Phil can tell Clint not to worry about it, he has already risen from the table and pulled the shirt over his head. Phil's mouth goes dry. Clint is as gorgeous as he was that first day in Singer's cell, more so now because the omega is well fed and healthy. Phil can't keep his eyes from roving hungrily across Clint's bare skin as he moves toward the sink. Clint's jeans are slung low on his hips and Phil takes in every detail as his gaze moves from the dimples just above the omega's tantalizing ass, up the contours of his well muscled back, and across his broad shoulders. It's not until Phil's eyes move higher that he notices Clint can see him through the reflection of the window over the sink.

"Clint, I—"

Phil gets no further because his chair is suddenly being scraped away from the table to make room for Clint to straddle his legs and swoop in for a kiss. Phil responds automatically and gasps as Clint settles fully onto his lap, the sudden pressure against his crotch and having his arms full of Clint making him instantly hard. Clint groans and uses the opening to lick into Phil's mouth, tangling their tongues together with a passion bordering on desperation. 

With both of their lungs burning, Clint breaks away from the kiss and stares down at Phil in wonder before shaking his head. "I didn't think you still wanted me like this."

"How could I not?" Phil lets his hands roam across the broad expanse of Clint's back. "You're everything I've ever wanted."

"Then why have you been sleeping in the guest room?"

"I need you to believe that I want all of you—not just for the baby and not just for sex. There is no way I could do that and sleep next to you every night."

"You..." Clint says and then gives Phil a firm kiss on the lips "Are the most infuriatingly..." Another kiss. "Perfect person I have ever met."

Phil wants to respond that he's far from perfect, but his mouth is busy being thoroughly kissed once again. Clint grinds their hips together and Phil moves his hands to grip the omega's hips tightly as he thrusts up into the contact. 

"Phil," Clint groans and sits up, hands deftly unbuttoning Phil's shirt before leaning down to suck on his collarbone. He continues to gyrate against Phil's aching erection, making him see stars. "Fuck me. Please, Phil. It's been so long. I want you inside me so bad. Please say you want me too. I—"

Phil pushes up to kiss the rest of the words from Clint's lips. "I will always want you."

He stands, bringing Clint with him, and walks backward toward the bedroom without breaking contact. They strip quickly, falling in a tangle of limbs and fevered skin against crisp white sheets. Phil can't help pausing to look down at Clint stretched naked across his bed. His heart and his gut clenches at being so close to having what he'd only once dreamed of and he can't look away. Clint looks back with his amazing eyes and cups Phil's cheek tenderly.

"I'll always want you too."

Phil's heart feels ready to burst out of his chest as he leans down to kiss Clint. Everything suddenly moves slower, becomes less frantic, with the knowledge that this will not be their only night together. Clint's hands roam across whatever portion of Phil he can reach as Phil trails loving kisses down Clint's torso, flat belly, and lower still. He wraps his hand around Clint's cock and licks eagerly into his wet heat until the omega is whimpering and keening in pleasure. When Phil finally gives in to Clint's begging and slides inside his omega, he can no longer imagine why he ever denied himself something so perfect and right.

  


* * *

  


"What were you saying last night? About lunch?"

Phil had woken before dawn, spooned behind Clint with the omega arching into the cradle of his hips. They had made love as the sun had risen, the growing light making Clint's skin glow as he'd slowly lowered himself onto Phil. He's never seen anything more beautiful than watching the man he loves fall apart above him, Clint's face slack with ecstasy and eyes shining with joy.

"Hmm?" Clint lifts his head from where it had been resting against Phil's chest with a small, confused frown. Clint had been reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed and Phil was more than content to indulge in a lazy Saturday morning.

"With Jasper and Natasha?"

Clint's frown quickly slides into a grin when he remembers their earlier conversation. "Oh! Did you know that you snarl at other alphas that come near me?"

"I do not." At least Phil doesn't think he does.

"You do!" Clint sits up, face filled with an unholy glee that Phil can't help finding adorable. "Jasper has video. Don't ask me why. He has video of Hill body blocking someone to get to the last piece of carrot cake in the mess and one of Fury petting a cat too. But anyway, the video he has is months old, long before you found out about the baby."

" _That's_ what finally convinced you that I don't just want you for the baby?"

"That and Nat telling me I was an idiot. There's no denying that you really care about me, but I wasn't sure I could deal with sharing your life and not your bed."

"You've got amazing eyesight, Clint. I have a hard time believing you haven't caught me staring at your ass."

"Everyone stares at my ass," Clint shrugs without any vanity. "That doesn't necessarily mean that everyone wants to be my mate."

"So my trying to be a gentleman and giving you space by sleeping in the other room and limiting how much I touch you was…"

"Making me think you didn't want me."

Phil groans and covers his eyes with his arm. "It's a wonder we're here at all."

Clint laughs and Phil lifts his arm because he loves watching Clint laugh. They grin at each other for a moment before Phil sits up and edges back to rest against the headboard.

"Since we're sharing confessions, I should let you know that I spoke with Dr. Sanchez yesterday."

"You did?" 

Phil nods and takes Clint's hand. "She confirmed that keeping you on the inhibitors for a few more months wouldn't be harmful. At the time, I was hoping to convince you to give us more time before you made any decisions. Now, I'm thinking we could use the time to get more comfortable around each other."

Clint lets out another laugh. "No wonder the doc looked so confused."

"Wait, what? You saw Dr. Sanchez too?"

"Just after lunch. I asked if I'd need the usual hormone shots most omega males take during pregnancy and how quickly I could start. We agreed that I should stop taking the inhibitors now and that she'd check my bloodwork in a week to confirm that the pregnancy had re-started. I could start the shots about a week after that." 

Phil can only blink at him for a moment and Clint's grin slips in concern. 

"Or we could wait. If that's what you want to do."

"What do _you_ want, Clint?"

Clint ducks his head and places a hand on his still flat belly. "From the beginning, the idea of being responsible for another life scared the hell out of me, but beyond all that—especially knowing it was yours—what I felt most was love. I know I could have done it on my own if I'd had to. I know I still could if the worst were to happen. And yet knowing that you're here, knowing that you'll love us both…" Clint looks up and Phil reaches out to place his hand over Clint's. "I really want to meet our child, Phil."

"So do I." Phil leans across the small space to kiss Clint without dislodging their hands. "I love you, Clint."

Clint grins, eyes bright with laughter and love. "Tell me something I don't know."

  


* * *

  


"I really need this kid to get a move on," Clint grouses, sprawling across the sofa dramatically and plopping his feet in Phil's lap. Phil automatically starts massaging without looking away from the game on the television.

It's Superbowl Sunday and, while they'd been invited to Jasper's apartment, they'd opted to stay home. There would be too many alphas at the party than is currently advisable to have around Clint. Phil's protectiveness, seemingly beyond his control, had gone into overdrive in the past eight months. Four days after Clint had stopped taking the inhibitors, an alpha agent had clapped Clint on the shoulder in the mess and ended up pinned against the wall with Phil's arm at his throat. They hadn't really needed the bloodwork to confirm that Clint's pregnancy was finally starting to progress after that. Phil had done his best to curb his protective instincts, but since he is trained in several thousand ways to kill a person, it's best not to tempt fate.

"Only two more weeks," Phil reminds Clint. The doctors had opted to schedule a c-section a few weeks early to lower the risk to Clint and the baby. "Then you can switch to complaining about sleep deprivation."

"And stinky diapers."

Phil finally looks away from the game with a goofy smile, leaning over to place a kiss on Clint's pregnant belly. "Don't listen to him. I'm sure your diapers will smell like roses."

Clint throws his head back and laughs, which is exactly the reaction Phil was going for. 

"Just for that, you get to change all the— Ah!" Clint breaks off on a gasp and curls in on himself. 

"What is it? Was that a contraction?" Phil moves to kneel on the ground next to the sofa, placing one hand on Clint's belly and the other on his low back. "Is the baby early?"

Clint relaxes, leaning his head against Phil's shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe it's just Braxton Hicks."

"That looked a lot more painful than how they explained Braxton Hicks would be. Should we get you to Medical?"

"No, no. Let's just wait and see if it happens. I don't want to ruin everyone's day if I don't have to."

Phil frowns, but doesn't argue. They stay like that—Clint on the sofa and Phil kneeling next to it—for several minutes with Phil's eyes on the clock the entire time. Just as he's relaxing and getting ready to get off his protesting knees, Clint gasps again, his hand tightening like a vice on Phil's arm.

"Clint!" Phil looks back up at the clock. Only twelve minutes have gone by.

"Just… just wait," Clint says, breathing deeply and slowly like he'd been taught. Phil begins unconsciously breathing in time with his omega.

Another twelve minutes go by and another contraction hits right on schedule. 

"I think we need to go to Medical."

Phil's mind goes completely blank. Logically, he knows that he's supposed to be grabbing the labor bag they'd already packed and driving Clint to the hospital. He also knows that he's in no state to drive. Phil grabs his phone and dials before he can think of anything else to do.

"This is Sitwell." Phil can hear the sound of several other voices and some muted cheering in the background.

"Jasper!"

It's a testament to Jasper's friendship with Phil and Clint that no other words need to be said. "Oh shit! Oh shit! Everyone get the fuck out of my way—I'm gonna be an uncle! Natasha!"

Natasha and Jasper arrive at their apartment within four minutes, which should be impossible considering where Jasper lives, but Phil doesn't have the time to worry about that now. Clint's next contraction comes at ten minutes and everything becomes a dizzying blur after that.

They're hustled into an operating room as soon as they arrive in Medical, the staff moving faster than Phil has ever seen them. Phil is wrestled into a gown and gloves before being shoved onto a stool next to Clint. Within twenty minutes—which feels more like twenty seconds—of arriving, the doctor is placing a still wet, screaming baby on Clint's bare chest. After nearly six years, the baby's impatience to be born seems only natural.

"Oh my God, Phil…"

Clint can't look away from the baby and Phil presses a kiss to his temple, only then noticing the tears in both of their eyes. He reaches out to settle the blanket more firmly around the squirming bundle in Clint's arms before laying his hand gently over the baby's back. 

"Welcome to the world, little man. We've been waiting for you."

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> A fermata is a symbol of musical notation indicating that the note should be prolonged beyond its normal duration or note value would indicate.


End file.
